Fear Itself
by itsasuperherothing
Summary: Headcanon 532: Tim isn't afraid of dying. He's afraid of Dick blaming himself if something happens, just like he did with Jason. One-shot for now, maybe later something more. Tim is still somewhat new to the family, and this is Jason's first anniversary he's been here for.


This is an idea I got from Tumblr. To be specific, Headcanon 532 (Tim isn't afraid of dying. He's afraid of Dick blaming himself if something happens, just like he did with Jason.) I know I should be updating my other story, lol, but bear with me. Quick one shot.

~Gadget

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Tim wasn't afraid of dying, no. He wasn't quite as fearless as Dick, or even Jason (though recklessness could be overlooked as bravery), but he wasn't worried about not coming home after a mission. That drive and courageousness was part of being a hero; part of being a link to his (adopted) family. That wasn't what he was afraid of at all. Tim was afraid of Dick blaming himself if he was killed.

He still, and would always remember the first time that he was there for the anniversary of Jason's death.

It wasn't the first time he had seen Dick cry. He had been there often enough to know Dick's parents' death date. He wasn't a loud one, no. Sometimes you couldn't even tell he was crying unless you looked closely, and you could see the glistening tears. That was what it was like that day. Usually he held it in until he thought he was alone. There were a few times where he wasn't, though, because usually Tim found a way to be there for him. Tim had cried alone too many times for him to not know what it felt like. Dick was there for him too many times for Tim to not feel a sort-of duty to be there when Dick needed someone to be there.

The beginning of the day had been the worst. The part where everyone actually had to _accept_ that Jason was _dead_ all over again. Melancholy waves washed over everyone as they woke. The morning was grey; unbelievably grey. Little drops of mist and dew collected in the almost heavy-feeling air. They were outside for a very short time, clad in black, mumbling a few words at his grave and laying down a bouquet of deep red flowers with healthy green stems and tiny little yellow ribbons around them. Barbara and Alfred and maybe even Bruce cried. But it seemed like Dick had a different way of showing pain- silence. He refused to talk for anyone to anyone, save for Jason. He isolated himself. Eventually everyone started to recover a bit, but not Dick. Everyone ate a lot, the grief most likely suckering them out. But Dick wouldn't eat, drink, or so much as look at his Nightwing outfit. Normally, as Tim knew from day one, Dick was practically itching to get his hands on the spandex so he could fly and fall above the very towers of Gotham and Bludhaven. For the most part, everyone let him keep to himself, a bit. Alfred would let him eat in his room as long as he /ate/ at all, and Bruce or Barbara would check up on him. Tim knew better than this, though. He could tell that Dick wasn't really eating, wasn't really fine like he told everybody. Everyone encouraged him to come out, but no one forced him to. Tim would only see Dick a few times, when he stepped out of his preferred darkness to go to the bathroom or something of the sort.

He was bruised, battered, broken, in a much worse way than the usual meaning would suggest.

Tim found himself planning, plotting. He did that a lot, even before he became Robin. He didn't quite know what he was problem the was awaiting to fix, but it didn't take long to figure it out.

He just wanted his brother back.

Tim finally roused up the courage to knock on Dick's door, just before he went to bed. At first, he didn't answer it. There wasn't so much as a peep. Dick might have been Robin much, much longer than him, but Tim wasn't an idiot. He knocked gently again, softly calling his name. "Dick? I know you're in there."

Eventually he heard the slow creak of the bed moving, and perhaps Dick had gotten up, or merely shifted. "Dick?" Tim called again.

He nudged open the door a bit, and Dick was watching him, propped up on his bedpost. Tim could see his faint outline in the darkness. He cracked the door open a bit more, and a sliver of hallway light flooded into the room. His covers were made neatly underneath him, and his hair was messy. It was always messy, but today it was unusually more so. But that wasn't what Tim was focusing on.

His eyes, his eyes.

They were usually a brilliant azure, with a mischievous twinge of mirth.

His eyes.

Today, they were a dull blue, mirroring a wax crayon color. The only life was in his pupils.

Black, amazingly dark black dots in his eyes.

"Dick?... Can I come in?" He asked softly.

He let out some kind of noise that sounded like "mm-hm", but Tim couldn't be sure. He did so anyways, slipping through the opening and sitting on the edge of his bed.

"I'm sorry." He said quietly.

"What for?" Dick asked. His voice was hoarse and low, most likely from lack of use.

"I'm sorry he had to die." Tim continued.

Dick looked at him for a little while before smiling. For a moment. It wasn't his usual grin, no. If anything, it was wry, sad, like he was toying with a few different emotions at once. But as soon as it came, it was gone, as if a gust of wind blew past, bringing and taking it.

"_You_ don't have to apologize." Dick said slowly. You. It echoed, the word, the tone. It was like... He was accusing someone else for /not/ apologizing, or something of the sort.

"Then who does?" Tim asked softly.

Dick looked away for the first time since Tim walked in.

"Dick... Do you want to talk about it?"

It was a stupid question, Tim knew it the second it left his mouth. A stretch of silence blanketed over the two again, and the conversation started to fade into oblivion.

Tim couldn't let that happen.

"_Dick_." He said in firmly, sternly.

He looked back at Tim. "Please Dick... I need to talk to you. _You_ need to talk to me. I know I'm not good at this, but-"

"It's not you." Dick interrupted. "I should have been there, ok? Jason wouldn't have died if I was there. I was supposed always be there, that's what a brother is supposed to do. If I had taken down Joker when I had the chance, he would be here. There were so many things that I could have done that I didn't."

His voice dropped considerably lower, and Tim strained to hear him.

"It was my fault."

The dam broke loose. The heart-wrenching "truth" was out. Tim knew that claim was ridiculous, but he also knew the mind did horrible things to reality if it really felt the need to. And in absolute need for someone to blame, Dick had chosen himself.

Tim slid closer to his brother. He wanted to hug him, tell him that everything was going to be ok. That was one of the biggest points of being brothers, wasn't it? But he was too inexperienced at this... Affection... To do that. That was the biggest difference between the Wayne's and the Drake's. That feeling that you were cared for, wanted, missed when you were gone, loved. Tim took a somewhat dull breath.

"That's not true. It's not your fault Dick. You can't blame yourself over something you had no control over."

Dick sighed. "That's what I keep trying to tell myself." The wry, sad demeanor again, this time a chuckle. "As you can see... It's not working very well."

Tim opened his mouth, then faltered. What was he frankly even supposed to say? His social skills were... Less than adequate, to say the very least- let alone _comforting_. That was something he never got. Was he _expected_ to be good at it? Or was he simply being mocked by nature at his crude antics? Again, his mouth opened, ready to prove the world wrong.

"Dick, you can't be so hard on yourself. You can't save _everyone_. Sometimes you have to-" He abruptly stopped himself from saying the word 'sacrifice'. _Not helping Tim, not helping._

"...You did everything you could Dick. You're a hero. And Jason was too. I know I never got to meet him, but I know for a fact that he was one. He protected the world- for a price, and there's no possible way that anything you would have done could change that." He finally constructed, carefully, meticulously.

Dick warily looked him down.

Tim closed his eyes for a moment. _God, I'm terrible at this_.

"No, you're not."

Tim was completely startled. He said that out loud? No. That wasn't possible. He was much more attentive than most. He realized little things, like how Dick's black suit he wore earlier was gone, meaning he had probably taken in to get it cleaned already, and that he was most definitely planning to wear it again soon. He realized that Dick wore that certain suit only for visiting Jason, and nothing else, meaning that he was planning to wear it again soon, to see Jason. It wasn't possible he missed something big like that. Or was it? Had he? Then how-

"It's kind of ironic, really, you telling me that I'm too hard on myself, and then being too hard on yourself." He paused for a moment. "I'm not in denial anymore. Not really. He died, yes. I've accepted it, yes. But it's hard to take in that I could have _done something about it_."

So he _didn't_ say it out loud. Dick just put together the puzzle pieces- probably something he picked up from Tim. Tim was starting to feel almost hysterical; Dick was a puzzle himself, but an impossible one, where none of the pieces seemed to fit with each other. It was odd; usually he was simple to understand, plain with his feelings. Tim sighed again, not so much in frustration, but more with an internal annoyance towards himself.

"You're my only brother. My first one, my favorite one, and even though there aren't any other options, that doesn't take any meaning away. You would do anything for me, you always protect me, and you do all in your capabilities to never let me get hurt. I'm completely confident that you did the same for him." He found his voice getting softer and quieter, until he just didn't have anything else to say. He wrapped his arms around his older brother.

For a moment Tim thought Dick was actually going to push him away. There was a slight pause- a hesitance that was never there before. Instead though, Dick embraced back him tightly. Before he knew it, Tim was crying for the first time today.

"I'm so sorry Dick." he whispered.

He had never met Jason before, so the impact in him was much, much lesser. But Dick's overwhelming sorrow slowly seeped into him, and by the time he realized it, it was too late. By that time, tears were already tipping out of his round blue eyes and cascading down his cheeks and he was clutching Dick in a death grip. Dick let him go for a moment, wiping tears off of Tim's face with his thumbs.

"Look at you." He said, tears tracking down his own face. "At this rate, you're going to have to reapply all of your mascara."

Tim hiccuped in laughter. Dick checked the clock by his bedside.

"You'd better go to bed. Bruce is going to have a cow if he knows I had you up this late." He said quietly.

Tim checked the time too- he had been talking a lot longer than he expected. As much as loved the sweet solitude of his own room, today, somehow…

The option of being alone didn't strike him.

"Can I sleep here?"

Dick nodded, sweeping himself and Tim under the covers of his bed.

It was maybe that day, that Tim decided. He decided that it wasn't the villains that scared him. Not the risk, or the injuries. Not the pressure of being a hero. Not even a demise similar to Jason's. Of course, all was taken seriously, and avoided. No, Tim was afraid of something much worse. If something horrible happened to him one day, what if Dick blamed himself for it? He now knew just how deeply Dick tooks the fault. It would destroy him, and in essence, Tim would blame himself everything. He just had to be careful, that was it. Precise, always expecting the worst possible thing to happen. To always be ready.

And that day, long after Dick thought Tim was asleep, he kissed his little brother on the forehead. "I won't ever let anyone take you away. I love you Timmy."

Too many thoughts were revolving around his head to allow sleep. Tim heard him, clear as day, and that was the last time Tim ever had multiple fears. He wasn't afraid anymore, for himself. Just for Dick (and later Bruce, Alfred, Barbara, Steph, Cass, and even Jason and Damian).

_I love you too._

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That didn't come out quite like I wanted it too. Overused the fragments for effect, and the ...'s, and I think it got a little confusing/off track a few times. Oh well. For now, this is just a little Batfamily one-shot, though if you guys want I could use this ad the first of a collection of Batfamily one-shots, mostly between the Bat-bros. Hope you enjoyed it!

~Gadget


End file.
